The Cat Whisperer
by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: As a favor to Hermione, Ron must take care of Crookshanks.


**Disclaimer: ****Anything you recognize belongs to the fabulous J.K Rowling. **

**The Cat Whisperer**

It was a normal day in the Weasley-Granger household. Ron Weasley was sitting in the kitchen, _Daily Prophet_ laid out on the table, waiting for Hermione Granger to come downstairs. It was morning and the sun trickled through the windows, warming the light blue and white kitchen as Ron flipped through the _Prophet_, paying attention to the pictures instead of the actual words.

His stomach grumbled as he flipped a page and wondered when Hermione would be down to cook breakfast. His thoughts were on eggs or porridge, maybe even some nice toasty bacon.

He could hear feet bounding down the steps in the background mildly but ignored the sound.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted.

He didn't bother looking up from his paper and instead said with a small smile, "How's breakfast coming along? I'm starved. I think I need to increase my midnight snack because I could _barely_ make it out of bed," he sighed dramatically and placed his hands on his stomach. "Do I look paler than usual?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and placed her hands on his paper, covering the words and the pictures he was looking at.

"Ron!" she shouted again, leveling her head so she could look into his blue eyes.

He smiled and winked at her. "Hm?"

"There's an emergency at work." His eyebrows raised and he chuckled lightly to himself. "I'm going to be gone for the next three days."

"What?" he asked with a laugh. "House elves lost their pillowcases—"

She hissed, turning a deep shade of red and shoved his arm with all the force she could muster, making him wince.

"_Ronald_."

Her voice was tight and Ron gulped as he massaged his arm. She only said his full name when she meant business. He looked up at her and attempted to shrug innocently.

"I mean…good luck liberating those house elves and other creatures. Shall I break out the old S.P.E.W jumpers?" he asked. "Harry's only a floo away and if he's not around I'm sure that Ginny would love to be a stand in treasurer."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm choosing to ignore you and let you get away with your idiotic childish behavior because I need a favor."

Ron raised his eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. "Can I make another joke then?" he asked, blue eyes shining brightly. "Take a jab at your knitting? Hermione Granger, soon to be Mrs. Weasley, indebted to her fiancé. My how the tables have turned. What do I get for fulfilling your favor?"

He was always the one that was down on his knees begging her to help him with some menial task. It wasn't his fault he hadn't learn simple cleaning spells. He had been more involved in other important things when he was in school. Protecting Harry, keeping Harry away from Ginny, pining for Hermione, keeping other boys away from Hermione, eating.

It had been_ exhausting_.

Besides, woman _liked_ cleaning. It made them feel fulfilled or something like that. His father tried to explain it to him once but his mum interrupted him by whacking him upside the head.

"Ron, enough. I need you," she paused, biting her fingernail and looking around the room. What she was looking at, Ron couldn't see. "Keep an open mind." He nodded. "This is an emergency," she reminded him sweetly.

He wasn't really listening. He never really did when she went on tangents about her work. Being an Auror was exhausting but being in a relationship was harder. He really needed to pick up some more self-help books.

"I need you to watch Crookshanks."

Behind Hermione the ginger haired cat appeared and hissed at Ron. His eyes popped open and he gaped at her with horror.

"No," he said firmly.

He was pretty sure he was giving her the wrong answer, considering they were going to be married soon. What was hers was supposed to be his and he was unfortunately going to inherit a ginger-haired cat that liked to use his leg as his scratching post and jump on his head whenever he fell asleep alone.

They really _should_ have gotten used to each other. It wasn't like Crookshanks was a stranger to Ron but _he_ really couldn't stand the cat. He would rather have McGonagall hissing at him in cat form. It would have been a step up in their relationship as well.

He supposed he just wasn't a cat person. What man was? He was strong, a real manly man. He was a dog person. An owl man. He cared about _real_ animals.

Not ones that coughed up hairballs.

"Ron," Hermione said with a groan. She placed her hands on his shoulders and started to massage them lightly, making him sigh. "Come on. I can't take him with me. Poor Crookshanks, look at that sad little innocent face of his." Ron eyed Crookshanks who he felt was giving him a murderous look while licking his paw. He shuddered and averted his eyes. "Please Ron. I'll do anything," Hermione whispered and winked suggestively.

His faced turned a deep shade of red as he smiled goofily. Ron looked at his fiancé, the way her curly brown hair seemed to have a life of it's own on top of her head. It reminded Ron of a bird's nest. She was wearing an awful brown pantsuit (something apparently popular in the Muggle world) and had clasped her hands together, pleading with him.

Hermione could have asked him to do just about anything at that moment and he would have jumped at the task.

"Anything?" he asked, grinning.

She rolled her eyes and huffed. "Anything that's legal and won't cause me any pain…and that isn't nasty."

He arched his eyebrow and grumbled. "No then. I'm not watching that _thing_. He's evil."

Hermione huffed and bent down to pet Crookshanks who meowed loudly and brushed himself against her leg.

"Oh Crooky," she cooed, "you're not evil. Don't listen to the mean man. Ron," she looked up, not taking her hand off of Crookshanks but eyeing Ron with displeasure, "come on. You have to get used to him. He's our stand-in child. Good practice when we have our own kids."

He waved his hand at her and groaned, turning back to his forgotten paper. "Last time I checked, Crookshanks was an animal. A blood thirsty animal," he muttered loudly, turning a page.

"If I recall correctly he was the one that knew Peter Pettigrew was Scabbers."

Ron smacked his hands on the wooden table and eyed her with a glare. "Scabbers was a good rat!" he shouted hotly. "Stupid Pettigrew. Can't believe I bonded with him…used to let him rest on my shoulders, nibble cheese off of my fingers and sleep on my pillow."

Hermione watched as his eyes glazed over at the memories, mumbling something about sharing sweets and lying in the grass together and staring at the clouds.

"Ron—"

He sighed, ignoring her. "Did I ever get a thank you? Ungrateful Death Eater…"

She rolled her eyes and pushed Crookshanks gently away from her. He gave her a look, cocking his head to the side and meowing quietly as if he was hurt. Hermione walked over to Ron, placing her hands on his shoulders again, giving them a big squeeze and then planting a kiss on his cheek.

"You'll be fine. Trust me. He eats twice a day and don't forget to play with him," she added as an after thought. "I love you! Thanks! Bye!"

With a quick spin and a loud crack Hermione vanished from the kitchen.

Ron blinked, trying to wrap his head around her words and then whirled around, realization dawning on him. His face turned white as he slowly turned his head towards Crookshanks who was staring directly at him.

"Wait, what! Hermione!" he shouted. "Oi! What are you looking at cat?"

Crookshanks hissed and bared his teeth, crouching into a position so he could leap at Ron's large bare feet. Scared, Ron pushed his chair back quickly, standing up with the paper rolled up in his hands.

"You win. This entire room is yours. I'll just scurry along. I'll starve for the next three days," his stomach rumbled and he groaned.

Of course Crookshanks would take his safe haven.

Crookshanks hissed again, swishing his tail for a moment and then taking one small step forward. "I'm going!"

Crookshanks meowed triumphantly as Ron ran out of the kitchen, cursing under his breath.

Four hours later Ron had had enough. His stomach was grumbling loudly and he felt light headed, having run from the kitchen to his bedroom, locking the door behind him with his wand and hiding out in his closet with his newspaper crinkling in his hands, eyes straining to make out the words and the pictures.

He had missed breakfast. The most important meal of the day. He had missed lunch along with his midday snack. He was not going to miss another meal or another snack. His throat was dry and his stomach was empty. He was not thinking clearly. If someone else was around they probably would have pointed out he was a wizard, he could have summoned food and made water shoot out from his wand. But no one was there to save him from Crookshanks or himself.

Ron tiptoed into the kitchen. The white tiles felt warm underneath his bare feet. Crookshanks was curled up on the floor, directly on a spot where the sun was hitting.

He held his breath, hoping Crookshanks wouldn't move. He was sure that he would be able to hear the rapid thump of his heart in his chest but when Crookshanks just meowed, eyes closed as he laid down on the floor, Ron took tiptoed further into the kitchen.

Ron knew if he didn't feed Crookshanks he wouldn't be able to feed himself. He needed a distraction in order to make a mad dash and grab whatever food he could find in the kitchen. He didn't care if it was a slice of cheese or a crumb of bread, anything would have been fine at that point.

Instead of getting food for himself he opened a white cabinet and pulled out a large bag labeled 'Cat Food,' he struggled to lift the bag and waddled towards Crookshank's bowls on the floor. He didn't bother looking for something to scoop the food with. Instead, he plunged his hands into the bag and scooped it out himself, eyes greedily eyeing the food, stomach rumbling. His stomach told him to take a bite of the cat food that was in his hands while his head told him to put it down.

For once, Ron listened to his head instead of his stomach. He dropped the food into the bowl loudly, making Crookshanks jolt.

"Dinner," he said, eyeing Crookshanks with what he hoped was a convincing enough smile, "you fat cat."

Crookshanks responded with a light 'meow,' and calmly stared at Ron.

His stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence in the room. He pointed to the food and then to Crookshanks, motioning with his hands for him to come over and eat his food that was smelling more appetizing as the minutes ticked on.

"Come on!" he shouted with frustration. "Eat, you bloody animal!"

But Crookshanks would not move. He sat rooted to his spot, the sun making his coat shine and gave Ron another sad little meow. Ron huffed and kicked the bowl out of his way, walking past Crookshanks confidently and started to rummage around the kitchen for some food, making himself a sandwich.

He spent ten minutes in the kitchen and Crookshanks did not move.

He did not know if he should have been worried or happy by his small victory.

Another four hours later Ron realized he should have been worried.

When he entered the kitchen again his thoughts were on biscuits. He had spent the last four hours realizing the freedom he had acquired with Hermione gone and started jumping and running around the house, something Hermione didn't allow because she didn't like too much 'noise.'

He had forgotten about Crookshanks and did a double take when he saw the cat on the floor in the same position he had been when Ron had been in the kitchen four hours prior. Except, to Ron's ears, the cat was struggling to croak out a meow, eyes dull.

"For the love of," Ron muttered to himself, eyeing the uneaten bowl of food, "if you don't eat you'll go hungry. Come on," he walked over to the bowl of food and pushed it with his foot towards Crookshanks who didn't move or hiss like he normally would have.

"Yum, yum."

He bent down and scooped up some of the food in his hands, waving it towards Crookshanks as closely as he dared, incase the cat decided to revive its devilish ways.

"It tastes delicious—bloody hell!" he howled, spitting out the food he had just shoved in his mouth. Ron coughed and ran towards the sink, turning on the tap and putting his open mouth under the running water. When he felt like the taste was out of his mouth he turned back towards the silent cat and shook his finger at him.

"That tastes awful. No wonder you don't want any of that. We need to get you something else. Something that's actually edible. Tastes like toes. Hermione must have you under some spell. What do cats eat anyway?" he asked Crookshanks who seemed to perk up at the mention of Hermione. "Fish, right?" Ron tried to think back to cats he had seen roaming around London from time to time but he had never seen them eat anything either. "Or steak?" he asked, trying to see if Crookshanks would cock his head to the side or meow for confirmation.

"A little bit if surf and a little bit of turf?" Ron laughed at his own joke and then stopped abruptly realizing he had just been having a one-sided conversation with a cat.

He groaned and let his head fall in his hands. He didn't know what to do. Owling Hermione was out of the question. This was a test and he was failing before the first day was even over. He was going to kill their stand-in child. Hermione would never marry him once she came home and realized her cat was dead. He would probably be chucked off to Azkaban by his own brother-in-law and left to rot for a number of years all because he couldn't take care of a measly cat.

In a flurry Ron dashed around the room, opening drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet, trying to find food that was suitable for a cat. He figured chocolate biscuits would not do and neither would a tub of chocolate ice cream.

"I don't have any tuna," he said between mouthfuls of biscuits. "I _do_ have bacon. Harry and his bacon obsession, really. Who gives bacon as a birthday present? Why he thinks I want to be part of the bacon of the month club. Never tastes any bloody different from month to month."

Crookshanks didn't say anything or move as Ron held out a biscuit. It couldn't hurt to try and see if he would eat it, would it?

"Here," he whispered, "try this. Go on…" Crookshanks moved his head, sniffing the biscuit.

Ron's heart leapt in his chest as he watched Crookshanks open his mouth and then like a fool his heart dropped as Crookshanks turned his head away from the biscuit and instead sprawled out on the floor.

He looked skinner to Ron. Almost like he was wasting away right before his eyes. Ron shoved the biscuit in his mouth and silently contemplated what he was going to do. He needed to channel his inner cat loving Hermione. What would Hermione do? He asked the question to himself over and over again as his eyes glued to Crookshanks body, watching if he was breathing, if his body was rising and falling.

"Crookshanks," he said softly, dropping to his knees. "You need to eat. You need to be strong so you can scratch me and snarl at me."

Ron lifted up his trouser to his calf, revealing a long red scratch that Crookshanks had swiped at him a week ago. He had tried throwing him in the tub and giving him a quick bath, desperately wanting to get rid of the scent of cat inside his house.

"You're actually worrying me. If you die Hermione will kill me." Crookshanks lifted his head and Ron huffed. Of course he would want him gone. "And then we'll both be dead and she'll be upset."

"Unless someone like Viktor Krum decides to swoop in and fill our spots. He still holds a bloody torch for her, that one." Ron glared at Crookshanks at the soft meows emitted at Krum's name. They almost sounded pleasant to his ears, which made his blood boil, and he snarled. "So _you_ like Krum. Well," he said, getting up from the floor, "starve then."

He quickly left the kitchen, not looking back at the quiet cat lying on his kitchen floor.

Ron's worrying reached a new high the next day when he entered the kitchen and Crookshanks still hadn't touched his food. Without stopping to get breakfast for himself he left his house frantically trying to come up with something to do that would make the cat eat.

He didn't care if Crookshanks scratched him or chewed his ear off just as long as he did _something_ to show he hadn't just exhausted his nine lives would have been fine for Ron.

Ron knew he had to think like Hermione. Of course the stupid cat would have ate if he was Hermione. If _only_ he had polyjuice potion lying around. He could do quite the impression of her voice, especially her loud '_Ronald_,' screech whenever she was sour with him.

Ron walked up to the desk he was currently near and smiled at a teenage girl who was making a pile of books. He honestly hoped that muggle libraries were like wizarding ones.

"Hello!" he shouted brightly. The girl shushed him and gave him a snooty look, pointing to a sign that said, 'No talking in the library.' Ron blushed. "Hello," he whispered again, earning a nod from the girl.

"Hello," she said, "do you need help?"

Her voice was squeaky to his ears and he thanked Merlin that _she_ wasn't yelling. She brought back memories of Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, and her shrill screech whenever she caught Ron talking (which was not often mind you because he didn't make it a habit to visit the library).

"Yes, help would be good." He paused, trying to think of what to say.

How did one describe his situation with Crookshanks? What sane person named their cat Crookshanks? He didn't know if it was popular in the muggle world so he bit his bottom lip and tried to think of a real cat name that described him.

"Well, you see, I've got a cat problem. He's more like a lion actually. _Roar_," he roared quietly, making the girl blink and take a step away from him even though the barrier of her desk protected her.

"Right. Well, I can try and see if we have something in our catalogue for…cats that are like lions." She shakily told him to wait as she searched some sort of white box with a clicker that Hermione had tried to explain to him before.

Sometimes it was hard for Ron to wrap his head around muggle things. They were just so silly.

Ron waited as the girl left and let his eyes roam around the library. It was large, there were many people sitting at wooden tables, leaning back in their chairs with piles upon piles of books. He watched as a very old man with a full head of shocking white hair opened a large book with a green cover, holding his breath to see if the book would scream or spit water at him like so many books at Hogwarts used to.

The book didn't do anything. Ron squinted his eyes, trying to figure out if the book was up to something but before he could walk over and see the girl had come back with a thick book in her hands.

She held it out to him and he grabbed it, eyeing the title of the book.

"Kitties for Dummies?" he asked with a gulp.

He didn't know if he should have laughed or been insulted. Crookshanks was not a kitty. He was a fat ginger-haired cat that got his hair all over the place (mainly Ron's robes) and tried to murder rats that were moonlighting as people (or was it the other way around?).

Ron put the book on the desk and slid it towards the girl. "No. See. He's not a kitty. He's more of a lion—"

"Sir, the book goes into adulthood," she snapped, glaring at him with her dark brown eyes. "I _could_ check to see if we have something on lion taming," she said sarcastically.

He felt annoyed as he stared at the plain young girl. Her hair was brown, her eyes were brown and her dress was even brown. It hung on her body like a house elf and their smock. If only he had a house elf then he wouldn't have had to worry about Crookshanks in the first place.

"I'll just…take this," he murmured. "It has a lot of pages though. You don't have something that's more…picturesque?"

He could tell she was trying not to laugh as she crossed her arms against her chest and let out a low giggle.

"I could get you a children's book?" she suggested with a slight chuckle.

Ron glowered at her. "No. I _can_ read. That's not the problem. I just need the cat to eat. The cat won't eat. If the cat doesn't eat the cat dies. My fiancé will then leave me and I will most likely come back in here to smell the books to remember her scent and then weep on your shoulder."

The girl gulped and let her hands drop from her chest, all humor gone from her face. "Right…"

Ron leaned forward on the desk and gave her a hard look. He really _didn't_ want to have to use his Auror moves on the girl but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Do you have any pets?" he questioned, not letting his gaze waver from hers. "Any advice? Please, I'm begging you."

She stared at him coldly. "I _advise_ you to read the book," she said, sliding the book towards him again.

"It's two hundred pages. I don't need to write an essay. I just need to know how to get the cat to eat."

"Read the book," she repeated, trying to shove the book in his hands.

He pursed his lips and clutched the book in his hands. "Fine," he grumbled, "but this can't end well."

Reading the book did not prove to be too difficult. There were a few unmoving pages to show pictures of content cats on their bellies or sitting and staring at him. Ron figured that every cat in the book would have probably hissed at him.

He sat on the tiled kitchen floor cross-legged next to Crookshank's bowl of uneaten food. Crookshanks had not moved one muscle when he entered the kitchen, his stomach was slowly rising and falling making Ron fearful that he would have to soon bury the cat.

Ron flipped to a chapter that was titled, 'Human Foods Cats Can Eat,' he wrinkled his nose at the first listed food, _vegetables_. _He_ didn't even like eating vegetables unless they were coated with seasonings or butter. His mouth watered slightly but he pushed food for himself out of his mind.

"Do you want some broccoli, Crookshanks?" Crookshanks swiped at his whiskers, making Ron release some of the tension out of his body.

Well, he was still alive thankfully.

"I don't think you're a lettuce person. Eggs?" Ron questioned incredulously, squinting at the list. "I could scramble them for you I suppose. How does that sound?" Crookshanks laid his head back down to the floor and purred pathetically.

Ron wished he could write to McGonagall and ask her to translate Crookshanks cat speak but time was running out. Besides, McGonagall refused to turn into a cat around him ever since that one time he tried to pet her. Hermione had told him to feed wCrookshanks _and_ play with him.

So far he had done neither.

He flipped through the book, maybe he could exhaust what little energy Crookshanks had left and he would be forced to eat or perish. Either way, Ron was not going to go down without a fight. He tried to find a chapter on games and toys but the print was so small and Ron was getting a headache. He flipped the pages haphazardly, landing on a photograph of a cat staring at a gold hoop that a person's hand was holding.

Well, if that's the sort of thing that cats were into he would make Crookshanks the lion-cat jump through hoops. The problem was they didn't have hoops lying around. He had never seen Hermione make the fat cat jump through anything unless he jumped on Ron's head.

Ron pulled out his wand and swished it, summoning a silver pot towards him. He tapped the base of the pot and drew a circle on it, watching as it sizzled and the circle he had created popped off of the pot, leaving a large hole in it. He threw it to the side and created another circle inside the piece of the pot he was holding. The metal dropped off, clattering loudly to the floor and Ron grinned triumphantly, holding up a metal makeshift hoop.

"Crooky," Ron scowled, was he really using Hermione's pet name for Crookshanks? It sounded awful coming from his mouth. "Jump through the hoop," he said softly to the cat.

Crookshanks lifted his head, his eyes on Ron as he levitated the hoop in the air near Crookshanks. The cat wrinkled its nose and slowly started to get up from its position on the floor. Ron's heart thumped in his chest as he waited to see if Crookshanks would take the bait.

His wand arm shook slightly as Crookshanks walked towards the hoop and sniffed it, placing one paw infront of the other and stumbling over it, nearly getting caught midway in the hoop.

Ron cheered.

He found himself on his knees and screaming praises for the cat. Crookshanks hissed as Ron let the hoop drop. He summoned more pots, large ones, small ones, to create more metal hoops. It didn't cross his mind that he was destroying his means of cooking food for himself later. It didn't matter. He was enjoying himself too much.

He created ring after ring with his wand and started to levitate them. Some were close to the floor while others were higher up in the air, high enough so Crookshanks would have to take a running start to leap towards them.

Ron watched in amazement as Crookshanks pounced towards ring after ring, leaping through some while hitting into others and dizzyingly shaking his head from the impact.

"Come on Crookshanks!" Ron shouted with glee. "You can do it! Come on boy!"

He held up the largest hoop he had created from a rather large frying pan and flicked his wand, fire jetted out of it and onto the ring, lighting it.

Crookshanks hesitated, one paw up in the air while the rest of his body remained on the floor. He eyed the ring before him. Ron held his breath, blue eyes stuck on the ginger-haired cat, waiting to see if he would make it. If he didn't he would have to give Hermione quite the explanation for his singed fur.

Crookshanks meowed loudly, showing his pointy white teeth and pink tongue. He licked his front paw and then the other, readying himself for the jump. It was as if he was in slow motion.

Ron tried to cheer as Crookshanks ran forward and leapt right into the fiery hoop. He watched as he slowly flew through it and landed roughly on his paws, right before his bowl of food.

"You did it!" he shouted, throwing the ring to the floor.

The fire vanished as the ring clanged on the tiles loudly. Crookshanks purred appreciatively as Ron's hand petted his silky fur. Maybe he wasn't such a bad _lion_ after all. He watched with glee and clapped his hands together as Crookshanks started to eat the kibble in his bowl quickly.

"Just call me the cat whisperer," he said, petting Crookshanks in between his ears.

Crookshanks turned his head and hissed at Ron's hand then licked his mouth and nose, eyes more alert than ever.

"Or not," Ron muttered to himself, removing his hand from Crookshanks and slowly getting up from the floor.

He probably should have put on some shoes and protected whatever exposed flesh he could.

"You win!" he shouted, stumbling out of the kitchen. "Bloody cat…"

But as he left the kitchen and went to go hide out in his bedroom, a smile was on his face. Crookshanks was quite the amazing cat after all.

Yet he wouldn't tell Hermione that and would later blame the mess in the kitchen on Crookshanks and his sharp nails.

**Author's Note:**** I wrote this story because the cat needed some love too. **


End file.
